


Dragons Live In Fiendfyre

by sanctussaturnia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Harry Potter, Depressed Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy Has Long Hair, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Gay Draco Malfoy, Good Draco Malfoy, Good Parent Narcissa Black Malfoy, I just realized he does not know when someones in love with him, Lucius Malfoy Dies, Lucius Malfoy's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mind Healers (Harry Potter), Oblivious Draco Malfoy, Painter Draco Malfoy, Painting, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Therapy, basically draco has Trauma and joins the muggle art world, because im a draco simp, cuz duh, hes sexxxy n smells like maison margiela, is pretty much complete but will be posted slowly just cuz :), poor baby, ripped harry potter, this is not a tag?, very draco centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:53:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28251951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanctussaturnia/pseuds/sanctussaturnia
Summary: The war ends and Lucius dies suddenly. Draco isn't sure how to live anymore without his father's oppressive guidance but through a mandatory mind healer, a sudden passion for painting and Harry Potter he figures it out.Or,Draco says f*ck no to an eighth year at Hogwarts, yes to therapy, muggle art society and surprise dinner (dates?)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Original Character(s), Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 75





	1. Windows

**Author's Note:**

> As my first Harry Potter fic, the language barrier is very real but I hope terminology isn't too bad. 
> 
> There are some original characters but anyone Draco has strings attached relations with (wink wink) is mentioned in passing. 
> 
> Pretty much wrote this as a brain exercise, just using Draco's character as a blueprint for other ideas so if it seems a little OOC that's my bad. Other than that enjoy! Kudos and comments are always welcome :)

When his father dies, Draco finds himself feeling like he’s standing in a barren desert. Miles of sienna toned nothingness staring out before him. He didn’t expect his father to die, no one had even considered him ill, well, physically at least. At the age of 18, he thought he had at least 30 more years of living under his father's cool gaze but now that it’s gone he’s unsure of how to live. He was the one to find his father dead which resulted in his emotional state. A state which is a bleary nothingness.

It was the third week of the trials, Lucius was on house arrest when he wasn’t required to testify. Draco and Narcissa had been absolved of all punishments so Lucius was the one bearing the brunt of the legal weight. Draco had been going to deliver tea and a few sandwiches, hoping to get his father to eat. Lucius had holed up in one of the guest rooms, he hadn’t spoken, bathed, or left bed unless required. Draco had walked in balancing the delicate tray and immediately halted in his steps. He had seen enough dead bodies during the war to know what death looked like. His father, hair tangled, and pale laid in bed buried beneath the same covers he had been in since Voldemort had been killed. Draco stared at his corpse and heard a faint ringing sound in his head before stepping out and closing the door. He walked to the kitchens and set the tray down before going to his mother's study.

He entered without knocking and once her head snapped up simply stated “Father’s dead, I’m sorry” taking in her shocked face.

Draco walked out and then commenced by calling the respective people.

Once his father's body was removed, he locked the door to that guest room and busied himself with funeral preparations. He knew it would only be him and his mother and since Lucius was gone their presence at the trials wasn’t needed anymore. They testified only twice following that as witnesses. The funeral was had, only Draco and his mother present and they spent some time walking around the Malfoy gravestones. Draco couldn’t help but think about how his would be here one day, synonymous with the matching surname engraving big and bold above his first. It made him feel heavy.

The next week his mother abandoned reading and began redecorating. Gringotts had taken a nice chunk of reparations but the combined Malfoy and Lestrange fortune they had inherited was enough for them to live through eternity without working. So Draco let his mother redecorate in peace. He instead was a jumpy, restless mess. Every time he debated staying in bed for the day a ball of anxiety began rolling in his stomach and he immediately jumped out and got dressed as if he had somewhere to be. Finally tired of walking the grounds and discussing color choices with his mother Draco began visiting muggle London. He did his research beforehand of course and was grateful that the outfit he had chosen wasn’t out of place. Donning a glamour he had asked the shopkeeper for the most fashionable muggle clothing she had. He had to admit the relaxed pants, sweater and cardigan was a nice change a pace from his robes. They were soft and lightweight, calming tones of gray and navy blue. Although nervous at first and seriously considering another glamour his nerves settled as he walked around and no one even looked, much less spitting or glaring in his direction.

He spent the day looking into shop windows, walking around parks where lakes glittered and trees shook, their leaves slowly turning announcing autumn. He waited patiently for the rain and wasn’t disappointed when it began. Sitting inside a cafe he sipped peppermint tea and watched as Londoners bustled around with umbrellas raised, children in rainboots stomping. It was all mind-numbingly, beautifully dull. He spent almost every day walking around a new part of London, endlessly soothed by the mundane everyday life of Londoners.

Eventually, on one surprisingly sunny day when he was sporting a deep green jumper even his mother complimented, Draco found himself standing outside of an art supplies shop. Peering into the window he eyed the wooden easel on display. A finished canvas of a sunrise setting on it and found something inside him pulling him into the shop. He had painting lessons as a child of course but he hadn’t had an interest in it since. The lessons stopped after he began school at Hogwarts and well, things got busy with Harry Potter and Death Eaters not too long after that. Draco gazed around the shop and took in the array of paints, canvases, brushes. Everything neat and new. The shopkeeper came up to him, a smile on her face and he told her how long it had been since he painted and that he was interested in giving it another go. It was a purely impulsive decision but she saddled him with everything he needed, offering to have it delivered but he refused. Slipping into an alley and shrinking everything until he got back to the Manor.

His mother was in the sitting room, curtain swatches spread around her when he returned. Her eyebrows raised when she noticed the bags in his hands. “What have you got there?” She asked before looking back at a shade of seafoam green.

“I’ve decided to start painting again” Draco stated and her eyes widened minutely.

She smiled at him before saying “I think that’s a wonderful idea dear, perhaps the room across from your bedroom would make an appropriate studio. There’s lots of windows and natural light”.

He nodded in agreement and offered his mother a soft smile in return before heading towards it. Draco wasn’t sure what this room had been beforehand, perhaps a tea room. There may have been a piano in here at some point but his mother had done a wonderful job at wiping all previous associations from each room. It was now large and bright, a pale yellow on the walls and a daybed of matching tones by the windows. She was right, the windows covered the walls from ceiling to floor making the space seem impossibly bright. Draco sat down the bags, unshrinking the easel, and getting to work. By nightfall, he had set up the easel, transfigured one of the chairs into a stool and another into a table. He had dinner with his mother and before settling into bed, peeked into the room.

That night he slept, dreamless and still.

The next day, Draco sat in front of the easel, unsure of what exactly to paint. He tried to think of ideas, prompts but nothing came to mind. Frustrated he stared out of one of the large windows until he hummed and began to paint. Softly, tentatively he began to paint what was right outside of the windows, the trees and their turning leaves, soft grass, the occasional woodland creature peaking out. He painted until his mother came in and brung him lunch. She smiled encouragingly and he stopped to eat, gazing at the colors he had put down and the calm scene outside. He almost found it confusing how the house which had such horror in it just a few months ago had a view like this now.

Draco continued to paint until dinner time, he sat with his mother and they chatted delicately. Afterward, he went back to painting, until it was way past his normal bedtime and the candlelight started to fade. The scene outside had become one of nocturnal stillness so Draco crawled into bed and joined. He went on like that for weeks which turned into months. Occasionally visiting muggle London for comfort or more art supplies.

He enjoyed mixing his own paints, it reminded him of potions, deciding which mediums to use and such, watching colors turn and manifest. He paints scenes outside his window, then memories of his childhood, the manor, and even Hogwarts. Small moments of light like the first time his father taught him to fly, his first quidditch game, the Christmas parties his mother used to throw. They’re dusty, hazy memories with mottled colors. He doesn’t judge his works, hasn’t decided if he likes them, or hates them but he does like painting.

In late May, nearly a year after his father died, he gets a letter. He’s sitting in the kitchen grabbing a snack, hands stained with blues and greens. It’s familiar and seeing Mcgonaall’s handwriting brings up a lot of uncertain feelings Dracos uncomfortable with. Feelings he hasn’t felt for a long time and are not welcome. He walks to his mother's study and knocks before entering. She looks up, glasses perched on her nose, and blinks at the letter in his hand. She too recognizes it.

“They’re opening Hogwarts back up this fall. McGonagall has asked me to return as an eighth year” he states.

“Well, darling…would you like to?” His mother asks tentatively.

The answer is there before he even opens up his mouth.

“No. I-I have no purpose for it anymore. I don’t need to go to Hogwarts for-“ he swallows around a lump in his throat.

He doesn’t need them for what? His Father? To get a job and reestablish their societal standing? To see his friends whom he hasn’t spoken to since the war ended? What’s at Hogwarts that he needs other than dim hallways, harassment, and loneliness?

His mother nods “I understand dear. The decision is yours to make, after all, you are a man now”.

He’s a few off from his 19th birthday but he knows what she means. His life is his to take control of now that his father is gone. His mother has never been the controlling type, she just wants him to be happy. His eyes burn with a threat of tears that haven’t spilled in the past year so he nods and offers her a wavering smile which she returns. Walking away he goes into his own room, writing a swift and respectful letter to Mcgonagall rejecting the offer. When he finishes it and signs his name. There’s something finite about it. It weighs heavier like it means more than just he won’t be attending Hogwarts. He sends it off and retreats to his studio, painting until the wee hours of the morning.

A week after that he gets a letter from the ministry. Detailing those young wizards such as he that will not be attending Hogwarts or any other wizarding school are required to see a mind healer for a minimum of six months beginning in September at the latest. This is to assure they may grow and integrate into society as healthy young wizards.

When Draco shows this to his mother she says “perhaps it isn’t such a bad idea love” and he sighs, that decides that then.


	2. Reconciliation, Illusion & Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Therapy, painting and muggle kisses oh my!

His mind healer is a cockney old bird, Daria. They meet at her house and upon his first arrival, she says a warm and bright “Draco! How lovely to see you” as if they meet for tea every Friday. They do instead, meet every Wednesday.

For their first two appointments, she gets to know him, asks about his painting when he tells her that's what he spends most of his time doing. He talks about his mother when prompted but it stays on the surface level.

Their third meeting after he’s charmed off his glamour and they’ve sat down with tea she asks him “Do you wear a glamour every time you go out?”.

He blinks at her before stating “No, most of the time I go out in muggle London. I don’t need to there.”

“But here you do.”

He nods suddenly uncomfortable.

“Why is that?” she asks and her small brown eyes suddenly feel like they’re peeling back every layer of his skin.

“I-“ he starts clearing his throat “my presence, makes people uncomfortable and angry. I’d rather not deal with that.”

Daria hums “why do you think people are angry when they see you?”

“At the trials they were…because of what I’d done, what my father had done. I don’t want to remind them of that or myself for that matter. I’d rather just not deal with it.”

“Draco…we often are told we’re reflections of our parents, and while that is true we are more importantly reflections of ourselves. It’s important to acknowledge the burdens we bear and remember self-authorship. You write your own story, no one else.”

He nods, swallows a lump in his throat, and commences the long path of unpacking his issues with his father. He begins to paint varying scenes. Those of his father encouraging and celebrating him as a young boy with ones of the oppressive and terrifying force he became. Draco thinks maybe he’s trying to find the point, the place where the man went from being a safe haven to an overlord. Where Draco lost the ability to decide things for himself and instead became whatever this father wanted him to be.

All he does is paint, unable to find the motivation to do anything else. He fills up his days laying colors down and blending them together.

It’s on the 6th visit Daria finally asks about his father's death. He explains to her, finding his corpse and takes all of thirty seconds.

She peers at him and asks “how did you feel?”

He shrugs “I don’t know.”

After measuring him for a bit longer she sighs “Draco, I’m going to tell you what I think you’re going through. Only because I think you can handle it and because you respect honesty. Most importantly, I think you actually want to live a better life. You have developed an emotional detachment that is manifesting much as depression does. Based on your mood and loss of interest in most activities there seems to be an emotional burnout here. This may have stemmed from the years of trauma you faced, not just from your father but having such a threatening force such as Voldemort in your home. So much of your life has been you living in survival mode, doing what was wanted of you for your own safety or that of your mothers. I think it’s safe to say your father's death was a shock and perhaps you’re afraid of being relieved that he’s passed, that it makes you like him. I know you never wanted to hurt anyone, that you’ve been through so much rejecting conflicting and strong emotions is the way you are surviving once again. You need to realize that you are safe now and that it’s okay to exhale when those that have constrained us are no longer in our lives. It doesn’t make you a bad person Draco”.

He’s shocked into silence and just looks at her, the tentative hand she reaches out to place over his. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until she passes a tissue to him.

That night his mother doesn’t pry, lets him eat dinner alone in his room, and confronts the fact that yes, he’s been living this past year strung tight like a bow. He’s been waiting for the other shoe to fall, the evil from the corner to rise up again. That he’s for so long been poised to counteract a threat against him he doesn’t know how to live without one. The ministry hasn’t bothered him, in fact suggesting that he gets therapy. No one attempted to harm him or his mother. This past year has been the most peaceful in his life and perhaps that's why he can't accept it. His life is calm for once, his mother not anxious because his father is dead.

He’s standing in the mirror, pajama bottoms on when it hits him. His life is better because his father is dead.

Voldemort being gone was one thing but he was still prepared to live with his father's existence, sneering and brutal. Draco didn't know how to deal with the shell he became before his death. Seeing someone who held so much power over him turn into a ghost of the man he was, filled Draco with disgust. He was angry, angry with how his father treated him when he was alive and how he went out so low. How dare he die so weakly. Furious tears fled down his face and his fist snapped out without his control, cracking in the wood of his wardrobe. Again and again Draco punched, tears clouding his vision as he roared.

“I was the one that stood tall as the reporters flashed at us! As people booed and screamed, wishing for our death!”

The thud of his knuckles hitting wood rang up his arm but he didn’t care.

“You took the cowards way out! How dare you! How dare you ruin us and then just fucking die! I hate you! I hate you!”

He screamed, tears soaking his chest until his knees buckled. Draco wept, crumbling onto the floor because as much as he hated his father, he still loved him. How could he not? Feeling much like a small boy he cried and cried, loud wracking sobs until he felt a tentative touch lightly holding his bruised knuckles. Looking up he saw his mother kneeling next to him in her nightgown. Her eyes were watery as she tapped her wand onto his flesh, healing his wound. His mouth wobbled again and he pressed his face into her stomach, feeling her arms come around him.

“I know, I know my little dragon…” she whispered, kissing the top of his head and he cried, soaking her nightgown and feeling his hair become wet with his mother's tears.

Draco felt lighter after that. The next day his mother and he had breakfast as normal. He went into muggle London and brung her back a box of macaroons, she smiled and kissed his cheek. Perhaps things were actually okay. He kept painting and they transformed less from memories and more to dreams, perhaps nightmares in some ways. Giant snakes wrapping around pianos, darkness seated at dinner tables, unicorns with green-eyed boys riding them. Draco didn’t stop and think, he just kept painting. He allowed himself to be honest with Daria and at the end of their third month together she smiled at him.

“Draco, have you ever considered painting as a career?” She asked and he blinked.

Painting as a career? Careers were working with money, trading, investing, buying, and the like. Malfoy's didn’t really have careers they just moved money around to make more of it. He shook his head.

“You’re in a position where you don’t really need to work and you could choose to do something you want to do without it being for-profit necessarily. Though I’m sure if you wanted to you could make it very lucrative” she said and he gave her a wry smirk.

He didn’t paint wizard paintings, there was no magic involved just still scenes so perhaps he could attempt art in the muggle world. He gave it some thought, did some research, and after a week brought it to his mother.

“I’m thinking of going to art school. Muggle art school” He stated over dinner.

She paused and then hummed “That could be very lovely for you Draco, your paintings are just divine,” she said.

So that too was that. He began taking classes in the evening, drawing and painting alike. He discovered he really did have a talent and after much urging from professors, enrolled in a bachelor's program for fine arts. Interacting with muggles was different, humbling, and involved lots of manual labor. He got used to lugging around canvases and cleaning materials by hand. He wasn’t the chattiest student but he was generally friendly. He became better friends with those he shared studio space or had multiple courses with.

It took him an embarrassingly long time to realize one of his peers Julia, had a crush on him. She was American and apparently had a thing for posh blondes as she stated when a group of them were out at a pub one evening after class. He was startled into silence so when she kissed him he sat there frozen. Something about her wild curly hair and tan skin made his blood race but he still gently pushed her back.

“S-sorry but I’m bent” he stuttered out, cheeks aflame.

She cocked her head so he cleared his throat and clarified “I’m gay”.

Her eyes widened and she devolved into giggles. Thank Merlin for alcohol. After many apologies, they ordered several rounds and developed a good friendship after that. A few days later after the incident, he found himself gnawing his cheek before going to find his mother, who was in the kitchens making a pie.

“Mother I’d like to tell you something” he stated, fists clenched.

At his serious tone she stopped what she was doing and looked up at him “Okay love, what is it?”

He breathed in before saying a tentative “I’m gay mother.”

Silence filled the air and she blinked at him before a smile tugged at her lips. She dangerously looked like she wanted to laugh.

“Oh darling”, she said wiping her hands on a cloth before coming around to cradle his face.

“I knew that but thank you for telling me” and with that, she kissed his cheek.

His jaw fell and he let out an incredulous “You knew?! How?”

She finally laughed before stepping back to her pie, “A mother just knows Draco”.

So that too was that. After six months, he reduced his appointments with Daria to biweekly. He was better yes but he still had a lot to work through. He knew everything wasn’t sound after all, he still couldn’t go to Diagon Alley without a glamour. He couldn’t deny though that things were better, he was better. His art was better. At the end of the year show, one of his paintings sold. A fun little piece of his mother's kitchen, ingredients in the air, spoons turning themselves in pots, carrots cutting themselves into a stew, and cakes being frosted by floating piping bags. He did it for a technical study and it brought him peace, his mother wasn’t in the frame but her spirit was. It didn’t sell for a huge price but it gave him hope. He took the money and bought his mother a necklace and himself more supplies, he wanted bigger canvases to work on.

By the end of his second year in art school, he was doing great. He sold three paintings at the show, albeit one to his mother which she put in her study. It was of himself as a baby, crawling out of a pair of men's trousers, familiar black shoes, and a pile of fabric, his father's robes around him. It was titled ‘Reconciliation’.

The other two were 'Illusion' and 'Comfort'. The first of a girl, dark hair falling like water over her shoulders, sitting in her underwear and pulling on stockings (a memory of losing his virginity to Pansy in 7th year). The second, of a couple embracing in rainy London. He was complimented for his unique usage of colors and rendering bodies. He drew people as exaggerated pointy things, painted them in impulsive colors. He was good at learning techniques, implementing them to make his work better but most of all he painted all the time. After his classes, he would hang out with friends sometimes but then go home and paint. On days without classes he painted, some days before classes he painted. In the last two and a half years he couldn’t think of a day he hadn’t painted.

In the winter of his third year, he found himself at Vincent’s flat. He was a year older than Draco and they had grown quite close, usually getting lunch together since they shared studio space. Sometimes Draco would have a few drinks at his after classes before heading home. Again, maybe he should have seen it coming when Vincent's mouth landed on his. This was far better though. He had sandy hair, a nice bit of stubble, and was strong and tall. Draco groaned into the kiss and inspired by the drinks in his system had sex with him.

It felt more like losing his virginity than the time with Pansy did. It wasn’t awkward, quiet, and tense. That time was just two kids in a cold situation looking for warmth.

Here, Draco felt safe, it had been fun and involved lots of laughing. Afterward, Draco marveled at how good he had felt after, walking to get coffee before separating. Vincent had kissed him quickly but deeply and Draco couldn’t keep the smile off his face. Perhaps it was weird but he kind of wanted to cry tears of joy that his first time with a man wasn’t a horrible experience. The bloke didn’t know of course that it was his first time but Draco did and that night he painted until the sun came up. Strong reds of passion and felt like an utter sod but he didn’t care.

He dated Vincent for a while until he graduated and moved to Rome. No one was hurt and they had marvelous sex the night before he left in a barren apartment. Draco finished his final year and had an art showing that generated a bit of buzz. Earning him a few column mentions. He finally felt like he had settled into his life, accepted what was occurring and his mother felt proud of him too.

When he finally was brave enough to mention him moving out he watched her visibly exhale and explain she was thinking about going to Italy to write a novel. She had been working on it but wanted a change of scenery to pursue it seriously. He smiled and hugged her, appreciating how she had waited until he graduated. After terminating his appointments with Daria who was more than happy with his progress, he packed his things. They locked up the manor together, it no longer being a place full of bad memories. His mother's renovations went well so it was actually quite beautiful now. After kissing his mother’s cheek, they went their separate ways promising to write and phone each other. And for once, Draco found himself hopeful for the future and not fighting to survive the present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update was a bit longer but I hope you enjoyed it! Kudos and comments always welcome and appreciated! :)


End file.
